


Little Lord Naboo

by saphsaq



Series: A Stormtrooper's Bucket Full of Jogans [1]
Category: Little Lord Fauntleroy - Frances Hodgson Burnett, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coruscant, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Imperial Guards - Star Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 21:59:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2483873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saphsaq/pseuds/saphsaq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/handschuhmaus/pseuds/handschuhmaus">handschuhmaus</a> noticing an odd line in <a href="http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Star_Wars_Rebels:_Spark_of_Rebellion"> Star Wars Rebels: Spark of Rebellion</a><br/>and writing <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2420195">a story</a> about it. Next thing I remember is, I had mixed it all up with Ms Burnett's <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/479/479-h/479-h.htm">saccharine classic</a>. Yet, due to dietetic advisements, I only paraphrase <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/479/479-h/479-h.htm#link2H_4_0005">chapter five</a> of it. Well, it's barely the first quarter of said chapter, which has to do with my slow hand in writing as well as with artistic reasons - albeit it will divest you of the Emperor fretting about receiving still the hand-me-downs of his older brother and the Jedi holocron with Obi-Wan taking the place of the small violet velvet-covered case with the picture of Dearest in it. Writing that, I feel it might be a sensible caveat that you should try to acquaint yourself with all three sources of inspiration before reading my story because this is as tight as a tie-in can get. And it's unbetaed!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Lord Naboo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [handschuhmaus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/handschuhmaus/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Lost Son](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2420195) by [handschuhmaus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/handschuhmaus/pseuds/handschuhmaus). 



**Dramatis personæ according to Ms Burnett's book (plus some notes by me):**

**Ezra Bridger** \- the little Lord Fauntleroy (here his title is Naboo, because that's more starwarsie and if he's indeed of the Palpatine lineage, he's most likely the last remaining nobleman of Naboo next to the Emperor)  
 **Darth Vader** \- Mr Havisham (a man of more words and better temper in the book, but mind you, THIS IS Darth Vader!)  
 **Darth Sidious** \- the Little Lord's relative (in the original novel he's the grandfather, but following handschumaus' plotline it's Uncle Sid here)  
 **General Grievous** \- Dougal, the mastiff (sort of Aibo to the Emperor after retirement from the Grand Separatist Army I suppose)  
 **Inquisitor** \- James, the footman (considering his rank within the Emperor's forces, the Inquisitor should be the “housekeeper” and his agent the “footman” - but I felt it saver, when Ezra was solely handled by Force-sensitives)  
 **Agent Kallus** \- Ms Mellon, the housekeeper (will not ware an almond blossom coloured apron - at least not in this story)

* * *

It was late in the afternoon, when the shuttle "Tydarium", containing Ezra Bridger and Darth Vader, activated its landing cycle over the glittering centre of the galaxy that is Coruscant. Or perhaps it was early in the morning? In a city which never sleeps you would not know. Besides, the Emperor rarely ate, so he had not given orders his nephew should arrive in time to have a meal with him; yet for some obvious reason he had ordered that the youth should be sent to the throne room, where he intended to receive him. As the shuttle descended toward the city planet's Palace District, Ezra sat trussed up rather tightly in a stateroom and listened the noises of the landing process with great interest. He had been too interested for Darth Vader's liking into everything he saw. He had been interested in the ship with its powerful SFS S/ig-37 hyperdrive engine - Vader found some pinched off wiring in Ezra's pockets; he had been interested in the tall stormtroopers with their shiny armour - Vader found a power pack and a hand full of bolts in Ezra's satchel.

When Ezra was finally released, standing at the "Tydarium's" lowered ramp aside Darth Vader, he looked around to get a good view of the landing platform and the Imperial Palace towering over it. They were greeted by a detachment of Redrobes, which came out of a thick walled, heavily armoured guardhouse: "Hail the Emperor! Hail your Lordships!"

"Plural?“ Asked Ezra. "I think they must think they know me." And he took off an invisible cap, grinning broadly. "How do you do?" He shouted over the vast expanse of the landing platform. “Good day guys!” The only response was the heavy fabric of the guards blood coloured capes billowing slightly in the city planet's cold draft.

Ezra grinned even broader, waving again. Then he felt the iron clamp of a Force-hold and stumbled down the ramp. Following Darth Vader he quipped nevertheless: "At least someone has acknowledged the shoddy marksmanship the stormtroopers have, and gave them pikes instead blasters."

Darth Vader did not tell his little ward, that the guardsmen could do some creative things with their pikes to a teenager. The Dark Lord thought there was time enough for him learning that. As well as for learning that, at the other hand, even the cream of the crop of the Imperial army was no match at all for a Force-sensitive. He moved the invisible hold from the boy's upper arm to the back of the neck to nip more effectively any attempt of scramming in the bud. Unfortunately the dignity of a relative of the Emperor forbade the usage of Force-suppressing shackles and occasional throttling.

They stepped on a repulsor powered sleigh, which carried the two of them speedily toward the deep shadow the palace casts over the landing platform. Ezra had never seen such a mass of stones, glass and metal formed into a single building. Its façade was so confusingly stately and complex, it's shape so pyramidal and star-reaching, he could barely make out the arch of the entrance before their sleigh passed it. He did not know, that he was about to enter the most rank fortress in the whole galaxy. He did not know that, but he had seen holo-net documentaries about the hive-peoples rampantly growing dwellings. Ezra shook his head and grinned because of the monstrosity of this abode. As they moved deeper into it, and it became apparent, that the building was a maze of halls and corridors, Ezra began to feel bored despite Vader's unrelenting Force-grip. He laughed at their distorted image some huge mirrors throw back at them while they swept past. They crossed rooms, empty except of an occasional flock of guardsmen, who looked like they never left their place since the floor was all shiny and spotless. When one hall was especially high, Ezra clapped his hands to elicit an echo.

"That's phat, eh?" He said revelling in the acoustic qualities of the room otherwise decked in cold splendour. "I think H...," Ezra didn't finish his notion that this hall was big enough Hera could pilot the Ghost into it without going edgewise. She of all his rebel-acquaintances was the last one he would like to give away, and Sith could read your mind, could they not? He flashed the tall and dark figure at his side a furtive glance while switching topic: "How much longer will it take?" 

"It is between three and four miles from the gate to the throne room," said Darth Vader, as if he expected the youth to cipher from the speed of the sleigh and the already covered distance the remaining time.

"That's a long way for a person to live from his gates," remarked Ezra.

But with the next corner turned, his resolve was tested. There was a group of young, female Twi'leks in pretty crochet onesies; some lounging on couches, some standing together in small groups, chatting. Albeit they turned their heads in a half-startled air, they seemed not too flustered by the dark appearance on the hovering sleigh passing by. Immediately they stroke beautiful poses. Some even began to stretch their supple limbs like dancers.

"Woah! Is this Ryloth local law visiting?" Cried Ezra enchanted in a successful but hard fought effort to suppress all thoughts about the Ghost's pilot.

"They live here," told Darth Vader him. "The Emperor, your uncle, owns them."

The term 'owns' sat not well with Ezra and he fell into a brooding silence. Which lifted in return the mood of his warden considerably, albeit he would have preferred that silence to have happened much earlier, since it was not long after that exchange of words they could spot the door of the throne room in a distance. It rose up before them, huge and grey, harsh light allowing no shadow to linger on it. There were embattlements and turrets, protecting its hinges and the engines moving them, as well as covering the vestibule if needed.

"It's the most wicked place I've ever been," whispered Ezra, his fresh face losing all colour. But he regained his composure fast. "Wouldn't wonder if there is a black hole behind it."

He saw the great entrance-door thrown open and many Imperials standing in two lines looking at him. He tried to guess unit and rank from all those different uniforms instead feeling intimidated. It had been only a couple of standard hours since he had freed Wookies with Zeb on an Imperial destroyer – and got pinched. And only a few standards more, since he had given Kanan his lightsabre back – but kept the Jedi holocron. Anyway, where it not for the few explanatory words, Darth Vader said about the truth of his pretended pedigree when picking him up from the destroyer's detention cell, it would not have been possible for Ezra to realise that he had very much to do with all this military grandeur. At the head of the Imperials there stood a tall man in a dapper grey uniform; he had sizeable muttonchops but otherwise short trimmed light brown hair and carried his custom made helmet under the arm. As Vader and Ezra approached him, he didn't move to give way to the throne room's entrance, and the youth thought from the look in his eyes he was going to speak to him. Darth Vader, who still had not slackened his Force-grip on his wards neck, paused a moment.

“This is Lord Naboo, Kallus,” he said. “Lord Naboo, this is Agent Kallus.”

Ezra lifted the chin, his usually easy to smile mouth a straight line. His bright blue eyes darkened.

“Do you think ratting me out to him is making up for your lost Wookies?” he said, a thumb jerking at Vader. “I'm keen, man. Really I am.”

Agent Kallus's expression changed as much as the expression of the helmets of the Redrobes on the landing platform had. He only sprung more to attention. If that was possible with such an already upright agent.

“I should know his Lordship anywhere,” he said to Darth Vader. “He has the Emperor's face and way. It's a great day, this, Sir.”

“That left to be seen,” rumbled the Dark Lord. “I suppose you're not so foolish to try to accompany the boy to his uncle. Where is the Inquisitor?”

“My Lord,” replied a haggard Pau'an dressed in black, who had seemingly sprung up from nowhere and made the agent step aside solely by a sharp look and a subtle motion of his hand. “I will but announce him and close the door. His Lordship is to be taken there alone."

A few minutes later – yes, the vestibule ante the throne room is that large – the haggard Pau'an in his black inquisitor’s uniform, who had escorted Ezra to the throne room's door, stopped and called: “Lord Naboo, my Emperor,” in quite a majestic tone. If he was only a dark sider, not a fully trained Sith, he felt it was rather a grand occasion when a prospective apprentice came home to his spiritual space and possessions, and was ushered into the presence of the master, whose place and title he was to take. Until that next grand occasion, the Inquisitor hoped, the youth would have forgotten the hard Force-push.

Ezra traversed the threshold into the room in a rather brisk manner. It was a very large and splendid room, with artful moulded panels, velvety draperies and shimmering stair after shimmering stair stapled high on the end of the room; but the room beyond the stairs was so low, the three circular windows so high above the walls and the draperies so heavy, and it seemed such a distance from one end to the other, that, since the lights were dimmed too, the effect of it all was rather gloomy. For a moment Ezra thought there was nobody in the room, but soon he saw that on the upper landing of the staircase, by the three windows there was a large throne and in that throne someone was sitting - someone who did not turn to look at him first.

But he had attracted attention in one quarter at least. In the shadow cast by the throne squatted a huge cyborg with the colour of steel dulled in battle, clad in a ragged cape and with irritatingly humanoid eyes; and this great creature rose majestic and slowly, and marched toward the little fellow with a heavy step. Little we should add, only in comparison with seven foot of well-oiled machinery approaching the fourteen year old.

The person in the chair spoke. “Grievous,” he called, “come back, General.”

But there was no more fear in Ezra Bridger's heart than there was thick-wittedness in his brain – he had been a thief and con-artist all his life. He danced nimbly around the cyborg, reliving in this motion Grievous of one of the four lightsabres clipped to his belt, and jumped with a single Force-enhanced leap up the whole flight of stairs. The General growled and jumped likewise, without to relay on the Force.

And then the Emperor rotated his throne and looked up. What Ezra saw was a wizened old man in an oversized, hooded cloak, without hair and eyebrows and a nose like old people used to have between his yellow, fierce eyes. What the Emperor saw was lanky, adolescent figure in a threadbare orange suit similar to a pilot's garb, with a satchel, and with shoulder-long strands of silken, black hair framing a handsome, manly, but still beardless face, whose eyes met his with a look of streetwise cockiness. Since the Imperial Palace was due to the Emperor's presence a nexus in the Force, it must be owned that little Lord Naboo was himself a bright light in the Force, though he was not at all aware of the fact, and perhaps was rather a raw model of a Force-sensitive. But there was a sudden glow of triumph and exultation in the Emperor's dark heart as he saw what a strong, beautiful youth his nephew was, and how naturally he kept his awareness focused on him while slapping playfully at the claw of the cyborg who tried to retrieve his lightsabre. It pleased the grim old Sith, that he had finally found, what he had searched for so long: the Face of the Empire. With him as the Soul and Vader as the Arm they were now complete.

**Author's Note:**

> On 16th of November 2014 some minor edits to bring back the links into the summary.


End file.
